The Care and Taming of a Rogue by Suzanne Enoch

is one very handsome man.” She took Phillipa’s hand and tucked it between hers. “So you only admire his mind, do you?”
    “I admired his mind long before I met him,” Phillipa countered, her cheeks warming. “But I’m not blind. He is quite…striking.”
    “Yes, he is. Please don’t let him come between you and Livi. You are sisters and friends, and that must be considered. Bennett Wolfe is a…well, a feckless adventurer.”
    Her mother left the second part of that sentence unsaid, but Phillipa heard it anyway. And you are not an adventurer. You are a book reader . “I would hardly call him feckless,” she said aloud, shifting. “He’s already won his fame and fortune; his journey to Africa was done with an eye to discovery, not income.”
    “There you are, my dear,” her father said, returning to hand the marchioness a glass of red wine. “Was that imposing fellow Bennett Wolfe, by any chance?”
    “Yes. He begged a waltz of Flip. Two dances, actually.”
    “He asked, not begged,” Phillipa corrected, though he hadn’t actually given her a choice about it.
    “True enough,” her mother conceded. “He doesn’t precisely seem the begging sort, does he?”
    “Oh, bother,” the marquis broke in. “Are you infatuated as well, Venora?”
    Lady Leeds chuckled, gripping her husband’s arm. “He is beautiful, in an untamed, roguish sort of way.”
    “That settles that. I shall have to plan an expedition somewhere so my own family will notice me.”
    While her parents continued bantering, Phillipa looked across the dance floor. Women practically threw their dance cards at Bennett, and he wrote his name on several of them. Once. Not twice on the same card. Nor was there any attempt at a scandalous trio.
    She had no idea why such a fascinating man claimed to be fascinated with her, but she was abruptly noticing the way that other people expressed their affection for each other; a touch of the arm, a hand at the small of the back, a brush of fingers against a cheek. And she wondered what Bennett Wolfe would do if she walked up and kissed him right on the mouth. Because she’d been thinking about doing that since the night they’d met. And she thought maybe he’d been considering the same thing, himself.

    Bennett had once seen part of the great migration of the wildebeests, thousands, millions of animals all herding together, following the same miles-wide trail through the savannah, over rivers, and out beyond where white men had ever traveled. Tonight he felt as though he was in the midst of the herd, being driven toward the edge of a cliff with no way to stop without being trampled.
    What the devil had he been thinking, to come to a place where the well-dressed horde gathered? Half the guests seemed to be speculating over whether he’d entirely invented the two books he’d written, while the rest wondered if he now meant to give up his life of adventuring and settle down to his estate in Kent with a wife.
    He sent a glance across the ballroom. Phillipa Eddison stood out like summer, her yellow gown with its generous curves practically glowing among the more restrained colors of her peers. Heat slid through him, dark and primitive and undeniable. She knew all the rules of proper behavior, but thus far he’d observed that she had some difficulty following them. And he wondered how far astray he could lead her before she attempted to find the path again.
    One of the chits bobbed a curtsy, blocking his way. “This is our dance, Sir Bennett,” she said, smiling brightly.
    Already? He knew enough about propriety to realize that he couldn’t dance only with Phillipa, but neither did he have to like it. With a sigh he set Kero into the leaves of a large potted palm. “Behave,” he said, placing a handful of peanuts into the hollow at the base of the fronds. “Let’s go, then,” he continued, glancing at the girl, and turned for the dance floor.
    She fell in behind him, then hurried over to stand